Tim's Story
by 2randomppl
Summary: Tim the ostler tells the story of the death of Bess and the Highwayman. Oneshot, based on The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes. Link to the original poem in my profile. Written by Tumpy


This is my first fanfic, based on _The Highwayman,_ by Alfred Noyes. There is a link to the original poem in my profile.

* * *

My name is Tim, Tim the ostler. Or I was, anyway. These days, I generally just sit around, never able to concentrate on anything. I've been like that for the past year. Since _she_ died.

Looking back, I realise that it was entirely the fault of that young man. He caused my madness, my jealousy, my pure hatred of him. Toying for Bess, the landlord's beautiful red-lipped, black-eyed daughter was the worst thing he could have done to me. Of course, if Bess went by looks, it _would_ be him, with his French cocked-hat perched jauntily on his head, a great bunch of expensive lace at his chin, a coat of claret velvet, brown doe-skin breeches that fitted without a wrinkle and fine black boots right up to his thigh. And me? One word – ugly. My face was permanently white and peaky, my hair was like mouldy hay and I looked so thin that my bones practically stuck out. Of course, had Bess's secret suitor been an honest and sincere man, he'd had looked the way I do, ragged and dirty. But he wasn't. He was a highwayman and a criminal.

I'm not exactly sure when Bess actually first met the highwayman. But for a few days, every time I sneaked a look at her, she seemed distant and, well, sort of _in love_ really, as if she was waiting for someone to come to her. She would often retire quite early to her bedroom, not the go to sleep, but to stare dreamily out the window, waiting. I was quite annoyed, I admit. I could not believe she could love anyone but me. I may not be good-looking, but I had other qualities. I was loyal, faithful and I was honest. For many days, I wondered who had stolen Bess's heart, _my_ Bess's heart. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I _had_ to find out.

That night, after the landlord had retired to his bed, I crept into the stables and watched Bess's window, waiting for something to happen. It was quite mysterious, that night. The wind was a torrent of darkness weaving through the gusty trees; the moon was like a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas and the road - it was like a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor. Just as I finished observing these details, I heard it, in the distance. _Tlot-tlot_. There was no mistaking the sound. I heard it every day. It was the sound of a horse's hooves, galloping on the road. _Tlot-tlot_. There it was, nearer now. My whole body tensed at the sound. _Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot_. And then, out of the mist, the handsome young man emerged.

I could see at once why Bess liked him. After all, she was just a young girl, quite naïve in some areas. All she could see was the handsome face, the riches and the prospect of leading a dangerous yet exciting life. What else would a landlord's daughter thought? It must have been boring, living in the inn. My eyes turned into hollows of madness and I was stiff with anger at the highwayman for tricking poor Bess. I could barely restrain myself as he clattered and clashed into the dark inn-yard and tapped his whip on the shutters. I hoped Bess wouldn't hear him. Luckily she didn't. I relaxed and looked gloatingly at the highwayman. After all, even _he_ couldn't have had the nerve to go and knock on the old inn-door. Surely, he would leave, I thought to myself.

He didn't knock. He did something much worse. He started to whistle a tune to the window. I wish I could say that the whistling was terrible, but I can't. There was something mysterious in the tune, something beautiful and entrancing about it. Dumb as a dog, I listened and I watched as, to my horror, Bess appeared at the window, plaiting a dark red love-knot in her long black hair.

I was horrified as I heard the robber tell Bess he would be back the next night, with yellow gold in his pockets. Paralysed, I watched Bess loosen her hair and sent it cascading down to the thief, who kissed the sweet perfume in the moonlight, then galloped away to the West.

Next morning, I wasted no time. I tipped off the King's men as soon as I could. It was quite a sight the see the red-coats marching up to the old inn door at dusk. They drank the landlord's ale and forced Bess up to her room. I hoped they would not be too rough to her. Again, I hid in the stables and waited.

_Tlot-tlot_. I heard that familiar sound again. He was coming. I closed my eyes listened hard. I couldn't wait to hear the musket. _Bang_! I opened my eyes. Was he dead? No, he had turned heel and fled. I then wondered whose musket had shattered the moonlight.

I soon found out. Everyone in the inn was talking about it. Talking about how Bess had watched for her love in the moonlight and warned him not to approach the inn – with her death. I was heartbroken. My plan had backfired, Death had claimed Bess and there was nothing I could do.

But just as I was lamenting on the loss of Bess, I heard someone shrieking a curse to the sky. The highwayman was back, swearing revenge on those who had caused Bess's death. And there, in the golden noon, the red-coats shot him down like a dog and left to him to lie in his own scarlet blood in the highway he once ruled. He was dead.

So I had got what had wanted, hadn't I? My rival was dead. But then, so was Bess. They were together forever now, in death and I – I had nothing. No-one rivalling me, and no Bess to love me. My life didn't seem worth living, and so I took to drowning my sorrows in drink.

One night, I stayed late in the stables again. Around midnight, I heard a horse's hooves. The ghost of the highwayman emerged from the mist and, well, it was like the fateful evening when I first saw Bess's secret suitor replayed. Everything was exactly the same. I watched, dumbstruck, and as Bess appeared at the window, plaiting a dark red love-knot in her long black hair, I felt the familiar surge of anger creeping upon me again…


End file.
